Dream Interpreter Slave
by Morning-Tide
Summary: Pharaoh is having dreams that no one can decipher, and he is ready to give up, until he is told of a slave who can interpret dreams with pinpoint accuracy. Told from Pharaoh's point of view.


**Dream Interpreter Slave**

I am the Morning and Evening Star, and not one person can find the answer to my dreams. I had messengers call in the best of dream interpreters and priests to unravel the meaning of my unsettling dreams. I have lost sleep, my appetite, and now my patience wears thin. Daily, I go to the Temple of Ra where in the swirling clouds of incense, I plead for him to reveal the riddle of my dreams. Every sunrise, my heart thumps with the memories of unsettling visages that have imprinted themselves into my dreams. Each day, I look for answers—what is it that I dream of? What importance is inherent in these visions of sleep? What do the dreams of seven thin cows eating seven healthy bovine kin mean? And the dream that follows this—the seven ears of grain consumed by sickly, withered ears of wheat?

I have demanded the best of dream interpreters in the land of Egypt, and all of them returned with no answers, frustrating me to no end. The dreams' nightly return taunts me, interrupting my slumber with smug arrogance, knowing I had no hope to figure them out. What deity would send a mortal—even if he is the Morning and Evening Star—dreams that mystified even the best interpreters in the land?

Weeks became months, and still the dreams taunted me, becoming so insistent on returning every time I closed my eyes that I was sure they knew, somehow, that they were unsolvable. I had exhausted all the possibilities and not even the vaguest answer had appeared. Normally, I am a patient pharaoh, but this truly tires my patience! How can there be no answers for I, a professed god on earth? I am the Living Image of Horus, and yet these troubling dreams' answers are elusive to all, including the gods and their servants in the temples. I have half a mind to give up and resign myself to these night visages. They didn't seem to be leaving any time soon, and still no one knew what they meant. I have even come to dread the onset of sleep, when they would return, on a nightly routine, to my slumber.

* * *

><p>One day, my butler taps me on the shoulder, his face bright and urgent, as though he had some thought come to him that needed to be spoken now.<p>

"What is it?" I asked him wearily.

"I suddenly remembered something!" the butler exclaims, breathless.

I raised my eyebrows at him, questioning. "Remembered what?"

"I know a man who interpreted my dream back in the prison!"

I bite back an impatient sigh.

_Really, how many dream interpreters does he think I've been through? _

"I have had enough of interpreters, thank you," I decline, waving him away.

"Oh, but this one was different. Does the name Joseph seem familiar?"

"No, it does not, and I would rather not think about my dreams. Change the topic at once."

"No, wait," a new voice pleads—the voice of Potiphar, who has appeared before my throne from the crowd. "I do know this Joseph."

_Joseph…on second thought, that name _is _vaguely familiar. _

"Who is this Joseph you speak of?"

"He was my slave a long time ago," Potiphar explains, "But I had him jailed when my wife…" he stops mid-sentence. His voice catches whenever he speaks of his wife, bile bitterness in his words. "I believe he is still in jail."

I address my butler, "You said he interpreted your dream."

The butler nods, "I did, Your Majesty, and believe me when I say this—he was right!" Now he became more excitable, hands clasping and unclasping with his fast-paced words. "You remember that baker you executed the same day you pardoned me?"

I nod, remembering very well that baker, who has long ago become food for scavengers.

"Well, this Joseph prisoner, he heard us talking about our dreams, and told us he could interpret them!"

"Did you believe him?"

"Not at first," the butler admits, "but he interpreted mine first—and he said I would be set free in three days. Well, guess what happened? In three days, I was free, thanks to your mercy, Your Majesty!" the butler bows very low, still gratified for my pardon.

"Anything else you want to add?"

"Oh yes!" the butler nods furiously. "He interpreted the baker's dream too, Your Majesty, and told him it meant his execution was in three days, graphic details and all!"

I scrutinise him up and down, searching for any signs that he might be telling tales. But his eyes are eager, his expression earnest. His gaze does not seem shifty nor do his hands fidget too much. Thus far, he appears honest enough.

"As I understand, this Joseph slave had interpreted your dreams three days before your fates," I summarise, "And there is no way you could have known what would happen in three days."

"Oh no, we had no idea! We thought we would be jailed forever!"

"He accurately interpreted yours _and _the baker's dreams?"

"That he did, Your Majesty."

I bring up my fingers to massage my temples. "And how long ago were you freed from prison and the baker executed?"

"Uh, three years, Your Majesty."

"Three years, butler," I confirm, "Why did you wait three years to tellme we had such a dream interpreter in the cells?"

"I…uh, forgot," he claims, "and even if I did remember, he is still a slave, yes, Your Majesty?"

The butler has a point—I would have dismissed asking a slave to interpret my dream the instant anybody suggested it. However, sometimes a man can reach such a level of desperation that he will try anything that works.

Now Potiphar clears his throat, his face a picture of guilt.

"I must add, Your Majesty, that the slave we discuss at present is also an honest man and I have never known him to tell an untruth about anyone or anything. He is an honest man, Your Majesty, and I trust that he will still be so if you give him a chance to hear and interpret your dream."

I consider these two men's reports, reflecting on all they have claimed and told me. According to my butler, this slave had interpreted both dreams down to the last detail and the exact number of days they would come to pass. According to Potiphar, he was the most honest and trustworthy slave he had ever known.

_I doubt this will work, but I will allow one more try. _

I lock eyes with Potiphar, my words firm and commanding. "Potiphar, bring out the slave Joseph and bring him to me."

"At once, Your Majesty," Potiphar says with a low bow. "I will ready him for your presence and bring him before you to speak soon."

Returning footsteps echo behind me as my attendees ready me for the formal interview with this claimed dream interpreter. I have my back to whom I guess are Potiphar and Joseph, only turning to face them once properly readied. I turn to face a slave who is clean-shaven, with a new wig and kilt, and I see the shapes of ribs sticking out from under his skin. It is clear he has had very little nourishment during his three years in an Egyptian cell. His cheeks appear hollower than would be normal, and his eyes, to my surprise, do not hold the haunted character of someone who has dwelled in a jail for years. Rather, his eyes are calm, intelligent, and honest. He does not seem to be afraid in my presence, and if he is, it is hidden very well.

I focus my eyes on Potiphar. "Is this the man you spoke of?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Confirmed that this slave is indeed Joseph, I swiftly pivot to eye him with my stern gaze.

"I am told you merely have to hear a dream and you can explain it."

"Your Excellency," Joseph addresses me, "the explanation comes not from me, but from God."

"None of my gods could answer the mystery of my dreams," I chide him, lifting his chin up with my crook, "who is to say _your _God can?"

I see the slave gulp visibly as I chide him on his claim that his "God" is the one who has the answers to all dreams. When I withdraw my crook from under Joseph's chin, he exhales a held breath.

"Tell me your dreams, pharaoh."

I take a few moments to collect myself. I must appear strong in front of this slave, for he is still of low status. I will not show weakness in front of Joseph, but I will allow him to hear my dreams. Of how in my dream I stand by the Nile where seven cows graze in peace. But then their peace is disturbed by the fearsome appearance of seven more cows, clearly famished and nothing more than skin and bones. They descend on the healthy cattle and devour them whole, with one gulp and swallow. How when this fearsome apparition ends, then it cuts to another vision, this time of golden corn growing in a field. So healthy, ripe, and fresh for harvesting, only to be devoured whole by withered, black, dead grain. Neither the sickly cows nor the withered grain seem any better for their feasting.

When I finish my regaling of my dreams, I find Joseph leaning a hand against the wall, deep in thought, but somehow troubled. I stride up to him, impatient for answers.

_I truly hope I have not wasted precious time with trusting in this slave. _

"Well?" I press him to answer.

"Pharaoh's dreams are one and the same," he explains, "the healthy cattle and grain represent seven years of bounty, to be followed by seven years of famine, as foretold by the emaciated cattle and withered grain you see in your dream."

_Seven years of famine? _I think, stunned by this revelation. _If what he says is true…we must act, and quickly. _

I turn decisively to Potiphar. "Is there anything that can be done to stop this?"

But it is Joseph, not Potiphar, who speaks up next, his voice full of conviction and authority.

"You must store a fifth of the grain in your granary during the time of plenty," he instructs, completely clam, "This must be stored under guard, and when the famine begins, you must return it to the people."

_A wise and intelligent slave, _I muse, annoyed the butler had taken so long in remembering Joseph, _but should I trust him? _

I turn to Potiphar, gesturing out at the slave. "You trust this man?"

Potiphar and the slave exchange glances, brief but obviously meaningful.

"With my life, Excellency."

_I hope he is right, for now, with my dreams answered, I will place the fate of Egypt's future in Joseph's hands. If Potiphar trusts Joseph, then I will allow myself to trust him too. Egypt will be in safe hands. _

Tomorrow, I will declare Joseph a vizier, for it is not a priest or magician who interpreted my dream, but a wise and intelligent slave straight from the Egyptian cells.

_From today, I will trust you, Joseph, my future advisor and vizier of all Egypt. Only I, the Morning and the Evening Star, will have greater power over all Upper and Lower Egypt. _


End file.
